In Jest, There Is Truth.

I Pray Thee Cease Thy Counsel, Which Falls Into Mine Ears As Profitless As Water In A Sieve.

I, Measuring His Affections By My Own, Which Then Most Sought Where Most Might Not Be Found, Being One Too Many By My Weary Self, Pursued My Humor Not Pursuing His, And Gladly Shunned Who Gladly Fled From Me.

It Provokes The Desire But It Takes Away The Performance. Therefore Much Drink May Be Said To Be An Equivocator With Lechery: It Makes Him And It Mars Him; It Sets Him On And It Takes Him Off.

You See Me Here, You Gods, A Poor Old Man, As Full Of Grief As Age; Wretched In Both.

The Rarer Action Is In Virtue Than In Vengeance.